wet winter

i'm still waiting for your plane, taxi, car, train. i can’t keep waiting, just go. please leave. that motormouth will take you wherever you want, whirring and buzzing along, the occasional stutter or single syllable speedbump the only thing that stops you.

i don’t have much in comparison to you. full of thunderclouds and dreams and dissatisfying satisfactions. tiny little drips of words drip drop, drip drop, until suddenly good old indy comes sprinting through, giant rolling sphere hot on his trail like a bowling ball knocking down all the pins of resistance.

then it’s not a drip, it’s a flood, and i’ll fucking drown you in me.

bumping down the road, teeth gnawing through your lips. there’s a canyon up ahead, but you don’t look at the forest for the trees. don’t worry, i’ll catch you, for the crags and the spires and the danger at the bottom will turn to dust at my wish.

reality. oh my roiling, lazy guts filled with nothing but instamessage bloops and noxious coffee grounds. that’s nothing that anyone (anyonemeaningyouormeoryouoranyone) wants to see.

stir and wait 2-3 minutes

powdered coffee sludge, down my throat like sand, but my mood won't fucking budge.

now I've gone back to juvenile writings and scrawlings on the walls. cold burns to the cheeks, heat runs down my gullet. pushing the feeling away.

eventually back up it, onto the freezing sidewalk. my feeble attempt at a functional breakfast upended next to a couple frosty dandelions, holding onto life in a crack of cement. fuck. they're just like me